


when is a monster not a monster? (oh, when you love it.)

by orphan_account



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Body Horror, Borderline Personality Disorder, Cheating, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Fullmetal Alchemist 2003 Fusion, Hanahaki Disease, IF I GET THERE, Keith (Voltron) Has BPD, Lance (Voltron) Has BPD, Multi, No Smut, Pining, Self-Harm, Sex, Shiro (Voltron) Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Suicide, Temporary Character Death, Unhealthy Relationships, eventually, so much goddamn pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-22
Updated: 2018-07-22
Packaged: 2019-06-14 09:03:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15385383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Takashi Shirogane had been gone for five months, two weeks and six days. Lance knew this for his own reasons.He also knew it because every single week, when he’d gone out to the shack out in the desert, the tally marks on the wall had ticked steadily upwards. At first, they’d been neat little marks, started in the middle of the wall – it would only be a few weeks after all, who needed that much room? Now they spread over the plaster, some of them done with such force that the paint had cracked.Incredibly AU at this point since I began this shortly after the season three drop. I make no promises on it ever being finished. Fusion with parts of Fullmetal Alchemist: 2003, but you don't necessarily need to have seen it. Also, uh, heed the tags. P l e a s e.





	1. HEMLOCK: Epithumia (desire; yearning)

**Author's Note:**

> Sooo... this was originally for the Supernova challenge. Time restraints, mental health issues and harassment caused me to drop out of that and the Voltron fandom pretty much completely.
> 
> But this story is - well, it's my baby. Part of me wants to never touch it again. Part of me keeps coming back to it, adding a few words here and there, wondering what happens next.
> 
> Betaed (the first part, at least!) by Cheesecake :)
> 
> Warning: it gets very bloody, angsty and dark. There is (eventually) a happy ending but if you suffer when characters suffer please find another story! There's lots of them. 
> 
> You don't have to have watched FMA 2003 for this; none of the characters appear, and the setting is 98% Voltron. It is, however, based on material only from S5 and before, and primarily on s3-s4 material.

Takashi Shirogane had been gone for five months, two weeks and six days. Lance knew this for his own reasons.

He also knew it because every single week, when he’d gone out to the shack out in the desert, the tally marks on the wall had ticked steadily upwards. At first, they’d been neat little marks, started in the middle of the wall – it would only be a few weeks after all, who needed that much room? Now they spread over the plaster, some of them done with such force that the paint had cracked.

Lance only glanced at the wall quickly this time. He’d seen it enough times. “Keith, my man? You home?”

“Yeah,” came the quiet reply from the kitchen.

“It’s, uh, it’s Lance.”

Keith snorted. “I know. You’re the only person dumb enough to keep coming to bother me.”

Lance didn’t let that chase him off. Instead, he leaned in the doorway, giving Keith a half-smile. “You getting enough sleep?”

“Don’t you have some skirts to chase?”

“I dunno, you’d look pretty nice in a miniskirt. Maybe a couple ruffles on the back –“

Keith glared at him with such menace that Lance decided maybe this time he better actually shut up. But it quickly subsided into the same dead gaze he’d seen before. “Not my thing.”

“What  _ is  _ your thing, besides the whole grizzled loner thing?”

Keith shrugged. He reached up into the cupboard –

“Need some help? Or a footstool?”

“Why are you  _ here? _ ” Keith groaned. “What is so interesting about hanging out with a dropout with no friends?”

Lance shrugged. “I mean, technically you were kicked out –“

Keith’s sigh could have moved mountains. He finally managed to grab the bottle of whiskey, and pointed it at Lance. “If I put this in you, will you shut up?”

…Oh, there was  _ so  _ much he could do with that. But he behaved. “You know nobody believes me when I tell them I go have drinks with a genius in the desert, right?”

Keith shrugged, pouring a glass for Lance and keeping the bottle for himself. “Let them think what they want. You show up and bother me into paying attention to you. I actually talk to something that isn’t a tumbleweed. It’s…what’s the word?”

Lance finally noticed the slur in Keith’s voice. He wondered how many empty beer cans he’d find in the bedroom, if he looked. “Symbiotic?”

“That. Yes.” Keith handed the glass to Lance, and half-stumbled out onto the porch. The sun was setting, rays arrowing across the dunes and breaking on the distant cliffs. Lance’s hovercycle sat on the sand. He didn’t quite know how he felt about driving it in the dark, but he’d napped on Keith’s couch without the other boy being any the wiser before. Concern for random strangers drove you to do… strange things sometimes.

Keith took a swig from the bottle, staring almost directly into the sunset.

“Hey, dude. That’s bad for your eyes.”

Keith just shrugged again. “…Sometimes I see things.”

“Um. Visions? Are you telling me you have  _ visions? _ ”

“Yes? No? I don’t know, Lance.” Keith slumped forward, burying his face in his knees. “I don’t know  _ what  _ to do. They’re lying. Right? He’s not dead?”

“I –“ Lance set his hand cautiously on Keith’s shoulder. This was getting into edgy territory. He’d mostly started showing up after Keith’s rather loud and public expulsion to rub it into Keith’s face, and it hadn’t taken him long to realize that Keith needed  _ help.  _ But he wasn’t stupid enough to think any ‘help’ Lance could call would have Keith’s best interests in mind – the crazy guy in a shack alone in the desert, slowly losing his will to live. “No,” he said after a moment. “I don’t think he is. I – I feel like you’d know. Better than anyone.”

_ Bullshit _ . Pure, unadulterated bullshit. The Kerberos mission had been a failure – there had been some sort of accident, they’d blamed it on ‘pilot failure’, and as far as  _ anybody  _ knew, Shiro was dead. Keith’s slowly-loosening grip on reality didn’t change that. But Lance didn’t say that – probably because, more than anything, he didn’t want it to be true, either.

Keith lifted his head slightly, then let it fall onto Lance’s lap. Lance just chuckled (slightly nervously), then finished off his glass, scratching Keith’s head. “Comfy.”

“Mm.”

“Never thought you and I would end up friends –“

“We’re not friends,” Keith interrupted. He pressed his face into Lance’s leg.

Lance sat back, trying to figure out whether or not to complain about mixed signals. Keith was… kind of  _ made  _ of them. And while it wasn’t exactly a mystery that Keith – well – batted for the other team, at least to  _ some  _ degree (nobody went this loopy over just losing a friend and Lance had come close to strangling some of the Garrison students who kept cooing over Keith and Shiro’s ‘friendship’), Lance had no idea what that actually translated to in terms of flirting. Or friendship in general, actually.

“You’ve got an odd definition of friendship, Kogane,” he fell back on.

“I guess.” Then Keith started coughing – just a little at first, then he lifted his head and turned away, coughs getting worse and worse until his shoulders were shaking.

“Ko – Keith?” Lance reached for him –

“I’m  _ fine. _ Just – some whiskey went down the wrong way.” Keith wiped his mouth.

“I think maybe you’ve had enough, huh?” Lance got to his feet, tugging Keith back towards the house. Keith relented after a moment of resistance, leaning against Lance’s shoulder and sending another rush of strange emotions through Lance’s chest. It wasn’t the first time Keith had been oddly touchy. It was just – a lot. It was one of the reasons Lance didn’t tell anybody else about these visits, because then he’d have to explain why he kept going back to somebody who alternated so quickly and dramatically between clinging to him and insulting him.

He got Keith into his bedroom, then swallowed. He’d been right. At least all the empty beer cans were kicked into the corner, which gave the room at least  _ some  _ illusion of neatness. Then he glanced out the window. Still a little light. “I – I better get going, Keith.” He didn’t really want to leave. He  _ liked  _ it here. He liked the quiet.

(And he liked it when Keith touched him, too; he needed to stop lying about that, because he’d already  _ done  _ the ‘I’m not straight’ thing, he’d been through that, he just didn’t know what to do about it or how to feel about somebody being  _ this close _ –)

Keith leant back against the doorframe, eyeing Lance with a strange glance. Lance faced him, ready to say some cheeky goodbye –  _ see you next week  _ or  _ don’t burn down the place while I’m gone –  _ anything would do –

–and Keith grabbed him by the lapels of his jacket, yanking him into a bruising kiss, teeth tearing at his bottom lip, body pressed flush against him. Lance steadied himself on the doorframe, trying to tell himself to pull away,  _ this is a bad idea this is a TERRIBLE idea,  _ but Keith tasted like cinnamon and roses and hops –

He tried to push Keith away, but Keith’s hand gripped his wrist so hard it hurt. “Distract me,” Keith panted, and he pulled Lance’s hand down towards him, between his legs –

Lance thought about saying no. He could have – it was an option. Keith might have been a year older and strong when he was sober, but he was drunk right now, and shorter by Lance by half a head. That, and Lance genuinely believed that if he said no, Keith would back off. The guy was a jerk, but – well – not  _ that  _ much of one.

But Keith was lonely. And so was Lance. At the end of the day, nobody came to hang out with a dropout if they didn’t feel like they were one bad mistake away from being in the same place.

“I – I’ll fool around. But I’m wrestling consent from you  _ sober  _ before anything else. Okay?”

Keith’s eyes were glassy, but he nodded slowly. “O-okay.”

Lance pulled Keith gently back into the kiss, curling his fingers into the back of Keith’s overgrown hair, savouring the way he tasted, the way he pressed himself so tentatively but eagerly against Lance, rising up on his toes. He didn’t whisper anybody else’s name, so whatever thoughts Lance had – that when Keith thrust into his hand, or made those noises for him, that he was making them for someone else instead – he was able to push away (for now).

But, in the end, he couldn’t sleep. He lay in bed next to Keith, over the sheets, watching the older boy breathing. He was coughing in his sleep, too, the muscles in his bare back spasming slightly with each slight retch. Lance rubbed his back gently, but that was all the affection he could tolerate for now – so he got to his feet, buttoning up his jeans (they’d never made it all the way off, which was probably for the best; he could feel himself getting  _ way  _ too attached to Keith as it was without capital S Sex coming into the picture or the murky ethics of drunk sex getting involved) and headed outside for a breath of fresh air.

The desert was much nicer at night, although it was chilly – he hugged his shoulders, shivering slightly as the wind hissed over the expanse. The heat of the sun had nothing to hold it in; when the sun set, its warmth vanished with it. There was a metaphor somewhere in there, Lance thought, but he wasn’t any good with words; admittedly, he wasn’t much good with anything. He was a half-decent pilot. He could hold to that, at least. Besides, being  _ almost  _ as good as Keith Kogane was an achievement in and of itself. Right?

Lance sat down on the steps again with a sigh. The empty bottle was still out here, and he picked it up, staring at it with a growing sense of disease. He didn’t know how much alcohol was  _ normal  _ for an eighteen-year-old to drink, but this seemed… excessive. He could ask for help – but from who? The people who’d kicked Keith out in the first place? He could ask Mami – but she’d tell him to mind his own business. And as far as he knew, Keith’s family was either dead or – well – drifting lost somewhere among the stars.

Lance leant back on his hands with a groan – then his hand met something on the wood. Where Keith had been coughing. His first thought was blood, but it wasn’t that (he was thankful; but at the same time, if he’d been dying, Lance could have called a hospital).

He held it in the palm of his hands. It was a crimson flower petal.

Lance felt his heart drop to his knees. “Oh, Keith,” he sighed. He still could have called the hospital – but it wasn’t his choice to make. It wasn’t his memories at stake.

He’d ask in the morning.

Lance lifted his hand to the sky and let the wind pull the petal from his palm. It spun away on the breeze and into the sky. Maybe Shiro would find it. Maybe it’d be a message to him that it was time to come home already, that this wasn’t  _ funny,  _ that…

“I can’t save him on my own,” Lance whispered into the empty desert, then started at the sound of his own words. They were louder than he expected.

A tear started budding at the corner of his eye, and he scrubbed it away. He was being overdramatic. He just needed to get some sleep.


	2. HEMLOCK: Sugkaterchomai (sink down together)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which things get worse. 
> 
> For those getting antsy:
> 
> 1) Yes, Shiro is in this.  
> 2) Yes, Lance is a prick. He's a bit stressed right now.

Takashi Shirogane had been gone for seven months on the day Lance came over to find Keith gone. It took him a little bit to realize it; the shack was small, but Keith had gotten so quiet that Lance had to check all three rooms and then outside before he realized he wasn’t there.

Lance sat down on the couch, trying to ignore the sudden pit of worry in his stomach. Then he dialed a number on his communicator. A holograph popped up from his watch as Pidge answered. “Lance? Where are you? Your  _ girlfriend’s  _ house?”

“No. Shut up. Look, is there anything on the news? Like, nothing happened, right?”

“Not that I know of.”

“You know everything.”

“I don’t know the name of your girlfriend yet.”

“Shut up, dude. I’m asking you for a favour.”

Pidge adjusted his glasses with a murmur. “I dunno what to tell you, Lance. Nothing’s showing up on the feeds, and I’m linked in everywhere. It’d help if I had a name.”

Lance sighed. “I –“ And then the door opened. “Actually I’m good!”

“What? Lance, I-“

Lance hung up as Keith walked in – then paused in the middle of the hallway, staring at him. “…You’re here.”

“Yeah.”

           “You’re early.”

“By like, ten minutes. You’re the one who freaked me out by not being here.”

Keith shifted uncomfortably, then dropped his bag on the floor. It made a heavy ‘clunk’ against the wood. “I’m not like… I can _leave,_ you know.”

Lance bit back the ‘well, where _were_ you?’ that was building on his lips, and shrugged. “Anyway, the door was open.”

“Yeah, because there’s no lock.”

“Either way. What’d you get?” Lance opened the bag before Keith’s protests really registered – then he stopped. “Books?”

“Yeah, books. Unlike _some_ people, I like reading.”

Lance picked up one of the tomes. “Dude, these look like they were written in the 1800s. Why are you reading 300-year-old books?”

“Good literature never ages.”

“Suit yourself. They look like they’d crumble if they got so much of a drop of juice on them-“

Keith snatched the book back with a slight look of horror. “Do not. Get juice on these.”

“What the heck are they anyway?” Lance peered at the cover. “Introduction to Alchemy? The fuck is alchemy?”

“None of your business.” Keith shoved the books to the side. “What do you want?”

“Oh, I was“ _-worried about you-_ “wondering if you wanted to, you know, hang out. I’m avoiding my assignments.”

Keith laughed. “You mean you want to fuck.”

“Be fair. We haven’t done that.”

“I heard that yet.”

“I didn’t say a yet.”

“Doesn’t mean I didn’t hear it.” Keith was trying so hard to sound pissed off, but there was a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth.

Lance returned the grin, folding his hands behind his head and leaning back on the couch. “Says more about you than it does me, Kogane. If you want a taste of me that bad – _Oof!_ ” He raised his eyes to Keith, who was now quite decidedly straddling him. “Um, 911, there is a Keith in my lap.”

Keith was smirking now, eyes gleaming. Lance couldn’t figure out why the sight was making him so dizzy, warmth glowing in his chest – “The Keith is demanding attention.”

“The Keith is _bossy._ I like it.”

“Are you going to keep calling me ‘the Keith’-“

“You started it-“

“-or are you going to ‘fess up and admit that you want to screw me senseless?” Keith’s hand snuck up the back of Lance’s neck, then grabbed hold of his hair, pulling his head back. A tongue traced a line over his Adam’s apple, and Lance’s hands spasmed on the couch.

“Gnnn… You are… very sexy when you want something,” Lance managed to gasp.

“Especially when that something happens to be you?”

Lance closed his eyes. In the two seconds before he responded, two things had occurred to him; that this was the most alive and focused that he’d seen Keith in months, and that Keith was distracting him from the ancient, crumbling books. Then he smiled again. “ _Especially_ then.”

\------

Keith rode him on the couch until his black hair was slick with sweat, fingers digging into Lance’s chest, clothes strewn around the room. When they were done, still straddling him, Keith tied up his hair, leant down and kissed Lance on the lips – more sweetly than he ever had before. “Was it everything you expected?”

“I’m not a virgin, you dope,” Lance laughed, but he pulled Keith back down into the kiss before he got away. “Just, you know, a _gay_ virgin.”

“Uh huh. Next time I’ll fuck you. That’ll be a fun new experience –“ The cough interrupted whatever he’d been about to say, and he turned his head away, crawling to the end of the couch, trying to hide it from Lance –

Lance sat up, reaching for him. “Keith. It’s okay.”

“No it’s _not –_ “ The coughs cut him off again, and even coughing into his arm, the petals drifted to the floor, sticky and strung with saliva and hints of blood. “It’s not okay.”

Lance caught some of the petals in his hand. They were getting bigger, and the streaks of blood on them were darker than the petals themselves. Lance was no doctor, but he _knew_ that wasn’t good. “…Keith. Keith, you need to see a doctor –“

“Fuck off.”

“You _know_ what this thing does, right? It doesn’t go away on its own.”

“I fucking know that!” Keith rubbed at his eyes. “If you know that much, you know what happens if I get it treated, right?”

Lance nodded. When the flower got removed, so did all the memories of their love. Everything they’d experienced… “Isn’t it worth being _alive?_ ”

“I’d do it. If it was anybody else. _Anybody_ else. But Shiro w – is my entire life. So don’t for a _second_ act like you understand.” Keith shoved Lance’s clothes at him. “Get out. And leave me alone.”

Lance shrugged his shirt on, trying to ignore the hurt in his chest. “…I’m coming back next week. Don’t die on me, Kogane.”

“I won’t. But I swear to god – tell anybody, and I’ll never talk to you again.”

Lance took a deep breath, then nodded. Silently, he was wondering if it would be worth it to keep Keith alive.

He did as he was told. He left. And he waited until he was home at the Garrison to punch the wall until his knuckles bled, because what was the point of _crying?_ He had no right to hurt. He wasn’t the one struggling.

_If it was anybody else._

It still felt like his world was ending. But he could deal. He always did.

\----

“Alchemy?”

“Yeah.” Lance shoved another fork of mashed potatoes into his mouth. “Like, old shit.”

“That dates from the 1600s or something. Maybe before. You’re talking ancient history, Lance.” Pidge crossed his arms, raising his eyebrow. “Does this have anything to do with where you go every week?”

“I told you, I’m visiting my girlfriend.”

Hunk didn’t seem convinced either, but he shrugged. “Hey, people are into what they’re into. What is alchemy anyway?”

“It’s like, old fake science. There’s a claim that they used to be able to do some cool stuff, but I don’t believe it. Sounds like magic and rumours.”

Lance cleared his throat. “Cool stuff, like what?”

Pidge sighed. “I read the intro stuff for it at some point. Uh, basically understanding, deconstructing and reconstructing matter.”

Lance suddenly had a hard time swallowing around the lump in his throat. “…So tearing things apart and remaking them?”

“Yep. Into anything they wanted, as long as it held by the theory of equivalent exchange. Lead into gold, sand into glass, wood into stone – as long as they were equivalent in mass. A load of baloney, really, but the theory’s interesting to read.”

Okay. So old hokey science. Lance forced himself to finish the last few things on his plate. The whole thing was giving him the shakes. “…Different question. Um, have you ever dated anyone? Either of you?”

Hunk shook his head. “Fat kids don’t get girlfriends.”

Pidge’s eyes flickered down a little, but he shook his head as well. “I’ve just never been interested. What’s the matter, Lance?” There was a note of mockery. “Need perspective from the other side?”

“…Other side?”

Hunk got suddenly to his feet. “I should go. Like. Right now. Lance, wanna go study or something-“

Lance glared up at him, then at Pidge. “What’s this about?”

“It’s not about anything,” Pidge replied in a flat voice. “I’m just not sure why _you’re_ asking _us_ for relationship advice, considering you’re the resident fuckboy.”

“ _Fuckb-_ what does that even _mean?_ ”

“That you’re pretty, you’re charming, and you get everything you want?”

Lance bit back the sharp response. He didn’t _feel_ special. And if he got everything he wanted –

- _well, maybe that’s why you’re taking this so hard. You want what you can’t have –_

“I thought you didn’t _care._ ”

“I don’t care about dating. Doesn’t mean I wouldn’t like the option.”

“What’s fucking stopping you, huh? I don’t get laid by sitting in my room, fiddling with the radio and hoping for the _best!_ ”

“Guys…” Hunk’s hand landed on Lance’s shoulder, and Lance realized he was standing. He didn’t know when he’d gotten up. “This isn’t helpful. Pidge, leave him alone.”

“No, no, it’s nice to know how you _really_ feel.” Then Lance put on his smarmiest grin, leaning over the table. “I don’t blame you for wanting some. Sorry, Pidge. I don’t fuck toddlers.”

In retrospect, the fist to his face was _entirely_ deserved. He just wished it hadn’t been in front of the entire cafeteria. Or that he didn’t feel like so much of an asshole right afterwards.

\----

The knock on the door came a couple hours later, while he was lying face-down in bed rehearsing potential apologies in his head. He wasn’t even sure why he was _bothering,_ since Pidge had started it – but every time he tried to think of something else, he ended up thinking about _Keith,_ and that was a whole other mess of Nope.

“Come in,” he grumbled into the pillow.

“Hey, dude, it’s me.”

“Hi Hunk. Are you here to lecture me?”

“Probably. I also brought you some ice. And cookies.”

Lance turned his head to look at Hunk. “So I’m in trouble, _and_ I get cookies? I’m confused.”

Hunk sat down on the chair next to him. “Sit up, Lance, your nose is bleeding onto the pillow.”

“Maybe I’ll bleed out and die.”

“Sit _up_ and stop being _morbid._ ”

Lance grumbled, but did so. “Yes, sir.”

“That’s more like it.” Hunk wrapped the bag of ice in a towel, then pressed it to Lance’s nose. “You didn’t need to be so nasty to Pidge.”

“He started it,” Lance grumbled.

“Yeah, I gave him shit too. But, Lance, dude, you can’t say something like that in front of everybody and _not_ expect to get punched.”

Lance shrugged. “I know. I just – what do you _want_ me to say? Sorry I asked if you’d dated people? It’s not like we walk around with little ‘virgin’ signs on our heads.”

Hunk paused, then sighed, wiping away some of the blood from Lance’s lip. “No. But, I dunno. Has it occurred to you that you’re kind of the cool one?”

Lance was ready to crack a joke about it, but caught himself. It wasn’t the time. “…I mean, sort of? But dating isn’t _that_ out there. I should be able to ask.”

“Yeah. Just don’t be so startled when it’s kind of a sore topic.” Hunk gave him a half-smile. “Rejection sucks. And I don’t care who’s badgering you or who’s giving you trouble. Turn it into a cruel joke like that again, and _I’ll_ be the one punching you.” His voice didn’t rise, but Lance could hear the quiet hurt lacing through it. “Not everybody wants to be you, or date you. Sometimes we just want to be your friend.”

Lance leant his head over, resting it on Hunk’s shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Hunk petted Lance’s head – then paused. “Lance, what were you going to ask? I mean, I know I probably don’t have any useful advice, but…”

“But what?”

“You’ve been kind of out of it. I’m worried.”

Lance thought about it. It’d be so simple – _is liking somebody supposed to hurt this much, am I supposed to feel like this all the time, aren’t I supposed to be happy he’s even paying attention to me, is this as wrong as it feels –_ but he couldn’t do it. Pidge was right. He just wasn’t used to not getting what he wanted. He needed to suck it up.

“It’s alright. Just… Shiro vanishing kind of screwed with my head.” It was the first excuse he could come up with – and then he sat upright, hoping the flush on his cheeks wasn’t too obvious. “Uh. The Kerberos mission, I mean. The Kerberos mission vanishing – not Shiro, specifically –“

Hunk raised an eyebrow. “…Uh huh. So, uh, about this… ‘girlfriend’,” he said with air quotes.

“ _Hunk,_ ” Lance grumbled.

“Okay, okay, mouth is shut, no commentary.” Hunk handed the ice to Lance, who held it back to his nose – and then he couldn’t seem to resist. “I should have guessed from the framed photo of him –“

“That is _memorabilia!_ He is my _hero!_ ”

“I bet he is.”

“Look at the time. Don’t you have class?”

Hunk couldn’t conceal the grin on his face. “But I’m getting such a good education right here – okay, okay, fine, I’m going.” He headed towards the door, then turned back. “Hey. Lance?”

“Yeah?”

“No matter what, you’re my bro, okay?”

Lance’s chest twinged at that. _Maybe I shouldn’t be keeping so much from him._ But he just smiled and shrugged. “Thanks, man. Just don’t tell Pidge I’m actually into guys. I’ll never live it down.”

“Yeah, nah. Lips are sealed.”

When Hunk had left, Lance lay down, trying to sleep. But he found his mind wandering back to alchemy. _Equivalent exchange._ Give something and receive its equivalent in return.

His stupid heart kept telling him that it was worth it even if you never got anything back. But apparently Keith didn’t function that way.

“Ugh.”

He shoved his face back into the pillow. He was overthinking things. Keith would be fine.


	3. HEMLOCK: Enomotos (bound by oath)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gonna just... put a really big TW on this chapter for survivors of domestic abuse. Please be careful.
> 
> Everything starts to come to a head.

The carpets had been shoved aside, the floorboards were marked up with circles, and Keith – gaunt-faced, thin, stumbling - was covered with so much chalk he looked like a ghost. And Lance – Lance was getting more and more uncomfortable by the moment.

“I got it to work,” Keith said, eyes glittering. “I don’t know how. But – look –“

“I don’t think I want to,” Lance murmured. He backed towards the door, fingers trailing over the tally marks that were just growing and growing over the wall, like a disease. _Just knock him out and take him to the Garrison, or the hospital, somewhere, anywhere –_

-and then Keith would never talk to him again.

Keith watched him, eyebrows furrowing. “Come on, Lance. Just stay and watch.”

“Watch what? You do _magic?_ ”

“No, no, it’s okay. It’s science. Just – old science.” Keith picked up a jar of sand and poured it into the center of one of the circles. “I’ll make you something.”

Lance wanted to say no. The door was open behind him. He could leave. There was nothing stopping him. But –

“Alright.” He knelt down next to Keith. “Impress me.”

Keith smiled, and leant over to kiss Lance on the cheek. Lance could smell the beer on his breath, but that was normal. He’d be more alarmed if it wasn’t there. Then he touched his fingers to the circle, taking a deep, slow breath.

Lance didn’t know what he was looking at. Nothing was happening, and he mentally steeled himself to lie, whatever he needed to keep that smile on Keith’s face

– when the circle started to light up under Keith’s fingers, white turning into gold and illuminating his face. His eyes were closed, black eyelashes resting on his cheek, and for a moment, he didn’t look nearly so sick and gaunt. He looked alive.

Lance’s eyes dropped to the pile of sand in the middle of the circle, and stuffed his fist into his mouth to stop himself from screaming. It was twisting and turning, coiling in on itself, vibrating and changing.

The light faded, and Keith winced as his fingers left the wood, opening his eyes and staring down at his fingers. They were red, and slightly scorched, leaving a vague smell of burning skin. But then he reached into the circle and picked up the twist of glass. It was a dolphin, leaping out of a pedestal of frozen water. “I dunno why I thought of it.”

Lance reached for the dolphin, then paused. “It’s not gonna like…curse me, is it?”

“I  _ told  _ you, it’s not magic. Just science. Anybody can do it, I think.”

Lance took the dolphin. It was heavy in his hands, solid glass inside and out. “Keith…I…” He couldn’t figure out what he wanted to say. He looked up, his head buzzing with questions, his heart trying to burst –

Keith kissed his forehead. “Do you want to stay the night? No class tomorrow, at least if I remember the schedule right.”

That was right. No class. “…So will you cook me breakfast?” he teased, and got a poked nose for his trouble.

“ _ Maybe.” _

Well, it wasn’t a no. But – “Well, I should at least let Hunk know. I have a study group with him and Pidge.”

Keith shrugged. “If you don’t want to…”

“I do! I just – let me call Hunk.” Lance tucked the dolphin into his pocket and stepped outside. Suddenly, he could breathe. He hadn’t realized how much the shack felt like a separate universe. A universe where magic was real.

He started to dial Hunk’s number on his watch – then from the inside, came the sound of coughing. Lance hesitated, then sent a quick text instead. “Keith?”

“I’m fine,” came the croaky reply – followed by more hacking coughs. Lance refused to let himself run.

Keith had a hand on the wall covered with tally marks, the other clenched to his mouth – but it didn’t stop the fountain of petals from fluttering from between his fingers and to the ground, strings of blood dripping sticky and crimson from the chopped-off edges of his gloves.

“ _ Keith! _ ” Lance ran to him, and Keith’s hand moved from the wall, falling against Lance’s chest.

“I’m –  _ fine – _ “ he managed to force out. The petals had stopped for now, and he spat out another clump of them, eyes watering. “Fucking...hurts like a bitch…” His head fell forward against Lance’s shoulder. “I’m close. Just gotta…nail it.”

“Close? Close to what?”

Keith shook his head. “Need – booze. Or smoke. Either will kill it.”

“What?”

“A drink or a cigarette, Lance. Did I fucking stutter?”

Lance steadied himself against the wall, pulling himself to his feet and Keith with him. “You don’t weigh a thing, Keith. I’m –“

“If you say worried I will fucking stab you.”

“Concerned?”

“Smartass,” Keith rasped. Lance couldn’t help but question the intelligence of giving Keith  _ either  _ of the things he asked for, but Keith was already pulling him towards the kitchen. He went with it, but –

“Are you  _ sure  _ you know what you’re doing?”

“I’ve been living with this stupid thing for a while. I know what works.”

Lance froze in horror, and Keith snorted, unwrapping his arm from Lance’s neck and stumbling the rest of the way into the kitchen. He opened the breadbox, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and a bottle of clear vodka.

“Keith, how long have you  _ had  _ this?”

Keith glanced back at Lance, then shrugged. “The flower? More’n a year now. I started coughing up the petals a few months before – well.” He plucked out a cigarette, pulling a lighter from the windowsill and taking a deep, choking breath of smoke. He started to cough again, then spat into the sink, more and more petals than before. The moment he had a breath, he took another drag on the cigarette, and started hacking even worse.

“Keith, what are you  _ doing-? _ ” Lance moved forward, ready to take the cigarette away from him by any means necessary –

Keith held up a finger. With one last rib-shattering cough, the last few petals fell from his lips, black and rotten, dripping with dark blood. Then he took one last drag on the cigarette – and breathed out grey and clear smoke. “There we go.”

Lance stood a few inches from him, trying to decide whether to scream or cry. He chose the third option – standing there like an idiot, pretending his fists weren’t shaking in frustration, pretending that everything was okay, just for a little bit longer. Maybe he could.

Maybe.

Keith wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, then stuck it under the tap. “It’s not perfect, but it clears out my lungs. Problem is the fuckers build up,” he said conversationally, like he wasn’t talking about the kind of thing that killed people. “The smoke clears them out, the alcohol kills them – and it helps with the pain, too.”

“I –“ Lance swallowed. He thought perhaps  _ he  _ could taste the smoke in his throat, the viscous blood…

He took Keith by the shoulders. “Come on.”

“What?”

“We’re going to the hospital.” He started to pull Keith towards the door.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“Then I’m going and I’m bringing them here.”

“ _ Fuck you! _ ” Keith tore himself away. “I  _ told  _ you, I’m not letting them cut him out of me!”

“Him –“ Lance pinched the bridge of his nose. “Keith, that – that  _ thing  _ in your chest isn’t Shiro. And letting it kill you won’t bring him back.”

“No. But I can.”

Lance’s blood turned to ice. He looked over at Keith – Keith, thin as a skeleton, Keith with hair so greasy and lank it looked like wires, Keith with pinprick pupils and veins purple at the edges of his eyes. Keith had been losing his mind for months now.

He was done being a bystander.

Lance turned for the door. There was a flash of golden light, and he shielded his eyes. When he lowered his arm, the marked-up wall – the wall measuring the days since Shiro’s departure – had bent inwards. Trapping him inside.

Keith was holding a piece of chalk. There was a circle on the wall – simple, a little shaky – but it had done what it needed to do. He fell to his knees, one hand on his ribcage. “Don’t go,” he murmured. “I just need a little longer.”

“A little longer until what?” Lance’s heart was in his throat. He backed up against the wood, searching for soft parts in it, hoping maybe the door was just  _ hidden  _ –

"I just... gotta keep practicing. And the flower's gotta get big enough. And then I can bring him back."

Lance fell back against the wood, then slid to the floor. "Keith. Keith, no."

"The books wouldn't talk so much about how it was forbidden if it was  _ impossible.  _ I can do it. I swear." Keith's fingers dug into the wall. "And I can't -" He closed his eyes, tears trickling down his cheeks. "I can't keep waiting for him to come back. You keep... telling me. He's dead. But I can fix it."

"This is  _ crazy,  _ Keith."

"You saw me make that dolphin."

It was heavy in his pocket. "There's a  _ big  _ difference between making sand turn to glass and bringing somebody back to life."

Keith shrugged. "They were both supposed to be impossible. I just have to live long enough to try." He gave Lance a wry smile. "If I fail, I promise you can take me to all the hospitals you want. By then I won't care."

Lance stifled the urge to scream. "Please let me out, Keith," he whispered.

"You have to promise not to tell anybody."

"I -"  _ He won't let me go. His mind is gone.  _ "I promise."  _ Will he know I'm lying? Can he tell? _

Keith didn't take the wall down right away. Instead he got to his feet, coming towards Lance, and pressed his fingers gently to Lance's cheek. "I'm sorry," he said, and Lance thought he might’ve actually meant it. "I'm - a mess. And scared. But I'm gonna make it up to you. I promise." He half-smiled, purple eyes still flaring. "Anything you want."

"Tell me you love me," Lance burst out. He regretted it, immediately. The words had been dancing around his head for months. Now he couldn't take them back.

Keith's face fell. He pressed his head to Lance's chest. "I want to," he whispered. "More than anything."

It was the most honest Keith had ever been with him. Lance still felt his heart shatter, felt the emptiness in his chest grow. Second-best. It wasn't a good feeling. "It's always gonna be Shiro, huh?"

Keith nodded miserably. "But you're still..." His fingers tightened in Lance's shirt. "You're still the one who's  _ here.  _ And you just...keep coming back." His voice was confused, drifting, like he couldn't figure out why anybody would care enough. Then he stepped back, schooling his face back into an impassive mask, and pressed his hand to the circle on the wall. The wooden panels returned to normal. "You can leave now."

"Do you want me to?"

"I don't care what you do."

Anger surged up in Lance’s throat. Something skipped – he was in front of Keith, now, and he clasped his fingers around Keith’s neck, squeezing until he could hear the other trying to breathe. “Do you care now?” he asked, almost sweetly, almost desperately.

Keith just glared up at him, not resisting, not fighting back. “I thought you wanted to leave.”

“Oh, that’d make you happy?”

“I told you what you wanted.” Keith licked his lips, a humorless smile making its way onto his face. “It’s not like  _ you  _ don’t want Shiro back, too. He’s less of a fuck-up than I am.”

“First you force me to stay. Then you tell me to leave. How about I make up your fucking mind for you?” And Lance hung onto the silence, drew it out, watched Keith’s face fall in the small corners and almost-imperceptible flickers. “I’m staying. Whether you like it or not.” And it meant he was  _ right,  _ it meant he was playing the game right, when Keith’s eyes lit up.

He crashed his lips into Keith’s, not bothering to be gentle. What was the point? Keith didn’t love him. He wasn’t a peaceful harbour. He wasn’t a new romance. He was a distraction. So he’d be a distraction, and keep Keith from making the worst decision of his life, for as long as he could.

Keith’s nails raked down his sides, between shirt and skin – then Lance was the one getting slammed against the wall until his bones rattled, and this was a distraction for him too, so he didn’t have to think too much about… anything. Anything at all.

\----

He didn’t think about the bruises until the door opened while he was shirtless, and he heard the sharp intake of breath from behind him. “Lance –“

“Hunk!” He turned around, grinning as disarmingly as he could. “Uh – what’s up, man?” He pulled the shirt over his head, but it didn’t erase what he knew Hunk had seen. He’d looked at himself in Keith’s mirror before sneaking back in that morning. The bruises spread purple and blue over his chest and stomach, patchy and mottled. There were some on his wrists as well, but the teeth marks were mostly on his shoulders and sides, so the long-sleeved shirt covered anything worth worrying about.

“Lance, what happened?”

He shrugged. “Rough sex. It’s fun.”

“Rough – what the  _ fuck?  _ I thought rough sex was like, a bit of choking. Not –“ Hunk waved at Lance’s entire body.

Lance laughed, sitting down and wincing a little. “I didn’t plan for  _ this  _ many marks. It got a little out of hand.” He’d enjoyed himself. Mostly. Truth be told, he was more worried about what he’d done to  _ Keith. _

“…Lance, dude, is everything okay?”

Lance had another prepared lie on his lips, but the look on Hunk’s face made him pause. But admitting that it  _ wasn’t  _ was a different kind of lie. “…Mostly?”

“Can I least look at some of that?”

Lance lifted an eyebrow. “Are you trying to get my shirt off again?”

“Haha. You’re the gay one, not me,” Hunk said with a smile, sitting down on Lance’s bed next to him.

“Bi, thank you very much.” Lance took his shirt off again with a sigh, biting his lip as the fabric brushed over one of the worst bruises on his back. “And come on, even the straightest of straight guys can appreciate my _aesthetic._ ”

“I mean, I _suppose._ Right now I’m more worried about the bitemark on your shoulder,” Hunk said with a slightly nervous tone. “It, uh, didn’t quite break the skin so I guess that’s good?”

“Yeah, I’m not too worried about those.”

“…Lance, dude. I think maybe your capacity for worry is a little _broken_ if teethmarks aren’t worrying.”

Well…Hunk wasn’t _wrong._ But whatever sassy response he’d had stored away was lost when Hunk pressed something cold and wet and _very_ soothing to the middle of his back. “Aaaaaaaaa that feels good holy shit –“

“It’s just a wet cloth.” Hunk hummed in consideration. “You, er, got slammed against the wall pretty hard, huh? Or against _something._ ”

“Yeah, why?”

“It’s like…” Hunk traced his finger. “A perfect line.”

“Ah.” Lance bit his lip. “That would be the line of the window, probably.”

“The. The window.”

“Yep.”

“A window that’s at mid-back height?”

“…Yes. Why?”

Hunk took Lance’s shoulders (gently) and pulled him around to face him. “Lance. Are you having sex with Keith?”

“What? No. That’s ridiculous.”

“Keith, as in, the one living in the shack out in the desert.”

“I have _no_ clue what you’re going on about –“

“You’ve been dumping sand out of your shoes for most of the year.”

Oh. Well. That was a thing. Lance avoided Hunk’s gaze. “…So what if I am?”

Hunk took a deep breath. “Your marks have _plummeted_ in the last little bit. And you’re distracted. All the time. Now I’m…” He sighed. “I don’t know anything about relationships but this doesn’t exactly _look_ good.”

“C’mon, there’s no way sand led you to the conclusion that I’m – hanging out with Keith Kogane.” Actually admitting their relationship out loud was a bit beyond him yet. This was the Garrison. It was a different world. It might as well have been a different universe.

Hunk sighed. “No. It was kind of… an unlucky guess.” He pushed Lance gently back into position. “This bit will sting. Hold on.” Lance winced as the antiseptic met one of the scratches on his back. “You’re a bit obsessive.”

“ _Obsessive?_ ”

“I-I mean, I know we only met last year, but… it’s kind of a _thing._ You don’t stop talking about him. Usually how much you hate him.” Lance wasn’t imagining it. There was a bit of a shake in Hunk’s voice. “I thought love was supposed to be a _good_ thing. Not hurt you.”

“I’m _fine._ ”

Hunk was dead silent for a few moments. It was a long while before he spoke again, still tending to the wounds on Lance’s back. “He isn’t – is – Are you getting blackmailed?”

“ _What?_ No, no, dude, I just – rough stuff is a little fun sometimes –“

“It’d be one thing if you weren’t trying to hide it,” Hunk mumbled. “I’m worried.”

“I don’t _need_ you to be concerned about me.”

“You sure about that?”

“This is the only time he’s ever hit me, okay? It’s not a big –“ Lance choked on the last word. It hadn’t sounded like that in his head. Hadn’t sounded so… he didn’t even  _ know  _ what. In his head, it had sounded like a defense, like it really  _ wasn’t  _ a big deal that Keith had swung his fist into his stomach – and how  _ could  _ it be? Lance had pinned him to the wall first. Choked him until his breath was barely coming.

Suddenly everything felt heavy. He buried his face in his hands, trying to scrub away the feeling on them. “I started it. It got out of hand. It’s not…”

“Lance…” Hunk’s hand slid onto his shoulder, thumb rubbing circles against the tendon. “Lance, what’s going on?”

_ Don’t tell anybody. Don’t tell anybody. Don’t tell anybody. Or I’ll stop talking to you.  _ Underneath the words, the threat that Keith had never voiced but lay unacknowledged, unspoken, under all of it.  _ Don’t tell anybody, or I’ll die, and it’ll be your fault. _

Lance didn’t realize he was crying at first. The hands pressed to his eyes flinched at the wetness – and then a strangled sob left his mouth, and his face was pulled gently to the front of Hunk’s shirt.

“C-come on, Lance. Just – just tell me, okay? Maybe I can help.”

And it left him in a flood. The flower in Keith’s heart. The slow spiral. The tally marks on the wall. The chalk marks on the floor and the dusty books of alchemy. The fear that kept closing in on him like a trick or a trap or a torture device, stones building and building on his chest.

“- _please,_ you’ve got to keep it a secret, I just – I can’t keep doing this _alone._ ” And even saying that, he felt like a traitor, because he _wasn’t_ alone. Keith just made him feel that way. But Keith kept claiming he and Lance were side by side, that Lance was his support – how could that be the same as being alone? ( _being alone would be better,_ whispered the voice in his head that had almost disappeared).

Hunk waited until Lance had caught his breath, fingers pulling through Lance’s hair. He waited until Lance pulled away, scrubbing at his face in embarrassment, trying to figure out how to play it off. Then – “I – I can’t promise that. I’m sorry.”

“Wh-what?”

“I…” Hunk flustered for a moment, searching for something to say – then closed his eyes for a moment, as if steeling himself. He opened them again. “I’m going and telling Iverson about all this. Right now.”

Lance paled. “Hunk – _Hunk,_ please –“

“I can – I can leave the relationship out of it, I’m not going to _out_ you – but –“ Hunk’s hands curled into his lap. “I’m not keeping this to myself.”

“ _You promised!_ ”

“You’re asking me to promise. I’m telling you I _can’t._ Keith is dying. And I think he’s taking you with him.”

Lance laughed bitterly. “What part of this looks like _dying?_ I’m helping him, Hunk – I’m – I’m doing my _best –“_

“You’re desperately in love with somebody who doesn’t love you back. You’re not spending time with us. How long do you think it’s going to be before you start coughing up petals too?”

“I don’t – I’m –“

“If you say fine, _I’m_ going to punch you.” Hunk got to his feet, headed for the door.

“ _Don’t!_ Don’t, or I swear to god, I’ll – I’ll never talk to you again.” The words spilled from his lips before he could stop them, a bitingly cruel echo.

Hunk paused, his hand hovering over the doorknob. Then he turned back to look at Lance again, and he was _smiling,_ smiling even though his eyes were watering and his face was flushed. “I’ll take the chance if it means you’re okay in the end.”

Then he was gone.  


	4. HEMLOCK: Askeles (dried up; withered; worn out)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes the people you love are terrible and wonderful, all in the same breath.

It didn’t take long for Lance to snap into motion, although he felt more like he was moving into a fog. He had to warn Keith – had to move – had to get out of here –

Even though some voice in his head (a voice that sounded an awful lot like Hunk) kept trying to tell him he wasn’t in trouble, that he hadn’t done anything wrong, he ended up pulling his shirt back on over his head and stumbling out into the courtyard of the Garrison anyway. He had to get out of here. They would –

– they would stop him from seeing Keith, they would lock him up and they would let him rot from the same disease - there was no  _ proof  _ that he was going to get it, there was no proof he had it, but Hunk’s words kept twisting in him over and over again –  _ you stopped spending time with us, you spend all your time with him, even when you’re not with him you want to be with him –  _ and how much had Hunk actually said and how much was his nerve-addled brain filling in the gaps?

He didn’t have any socks on, and he could feel his heels scrape against the backs of his boots as he settled onto his hovercycle. There was a sound from behind him, and Lance accelerated, not listening to the shout behind him. His watch rang. He ignored it.

_ Call from Pidge Gunderson.                                                                  _

He ignored it. It went to voicemail.

“Lance! Lance, get back here!” came piping out of his watch. “Lance, you are  _ not equipped  _ for Hanahaki, okay–?”

He pressed his watch, temper flaring. “And who told you that?”

“Hunk is  _ panicking,  _ okay? You can’t deal with this on your own!”

“It’s not your goddamn business, Pidge.”

 

“ _ Not my business-? _ ”

“Didn’t you tell me something along the lines that I was lucky to be dating anybody at all?

Pidge took a startled breath. “I didn’t –  _ know  _ that was about Hanahaki disease, okay? I –“

“You didn’t ask,” Lance replied curtly. Then he hung up.

There was an orange spark in the night as he approached Keith’s home, and as he grew closer, the silhouette of his lover emerged behind it. Keith was smoking again. Of course. Lance probably wouldn’t have been so frightened by it if Keith had just been looking for the nicotine rush like most smokers. It was the fact that it was a purposeful act of war against the living thing within his body that he found so terrifying.

“Keith! Keith, I –“

Keith wasn’t responding to him. Lance hefted himself off of the hovercycle, and put a foot on the step –

Keith pressed play on the phone, and the answering machine on it started playing. Hunk’s voice rang through it, angry and hurt. It’d been halfway through a message when Lance had pulled up to the house. “-stay the  _ hell  _ away from Lance! I see another mark on him, I see you anywhere near him again, I don’t care how sick you are,  _ I will hurt you. _ ” There was the loud click of Hunk slamming the phone down and then hanging up.

Keith was deathly silent. The light from his phone played blue over his face, and Lance could see the way his eyes landed on him, dark and flat and  _ angry.  _ “So how long do I have before I have doctors coming to tear my memories out?” he asked quietly.

“Keith –“

“How long?”

“I don’t know. I don’t even know if Hunk –“

“Well, he certainly made warning me away from  _ you  _ his first priority. Glad to know you care so much whether – what was it?” Keith’s voice was pure venom, but the frosty tone couldn’t hide the anger and hurt. “Oh yeah. Whether I  _ loved _ you or not.”

Lance felt the blood drain from his face. His fingers were tingling.  _ I’m scared,  _ he realized with a dim, distant sense of amusement.  _ I thought I couldn’t be scared of him anymore.  _ “He’s my best friend.”

“Who just threatened to kill me for, what, spending too much time with you?”

_ That’s not what he said,  _ Lance thought dully. At least, he thought. It didn’t  _ sound  _ right. “He’s protecting me.”

“From  _ what? _ ”

_ From you,  _ Lance wanted to say.  _ From the spiral you seem hell-bent on dragging me down with you.  _ “I – I don’t know,” he just mumbled instead.

Keith walked down the stairs, steps heavy. His gloves were off, Lance noticed – and then Keith lifted his cigarette back to his lips, and Lance felt his head reel, trying to understand what he was seeing. There were slits in Keith’s wrists, vertical and criss-crossed – those didn’t surprise him, any more than all the thousand other death-seeking things he did – but at least two of them were fresh. Out of the weeping flesh, from deep inside Keith’s veins, crept red-stained roots that wrapped around his wrists, crawling up his arms. They were growing even while Lance watched, slowly enough that he could only barely see it –

“It doesn’t matter,” Keith mumbled. “By the time they get their shit together enough to actually send somebody to get here, I’ll be ready –“

“To bring back Shiro?”

Keith glared at him, still cold and burning. But then he nodded. “No thanks to you, I have to speed it up, but it’s –“ His hand crept to his chest, seemingly of its own volition, and Lance wondered if it was just the illusion of the red and blue lights of the cigarettes and the small tech around them that made his ribcage look so hollow. “I’ll make it work,” he said softly. For a moment, he didn’t look so angry anymore.

Lance felt the little flicker of hope rise up in his chest – maybe, _maybe,_ he could get this all to work out. Maybe – “I’m – I’m sorry,” he offered, and it _sounded_ genuine, maybe Keith would believe it, and he _was_ sorry, he hadn’t meant to cause all this trouble –

But Keith wasn’t listening to him. Keith was off in his own world.

“Keith?”

He started back to reality. “Hm? Oh. You can help, if you want.”

_Help bring back Shiro._ The air temperature seemed to drop. “Keith –“ Like saying his name over and over again would do anything – “Are – are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“First you’re sorry, now you’re questioning me?” Keith snapped. Lance recoiled, but Keith barely noticed. Not that he ever did. “Don’t you _want_ him back?”

“This is – messy stuff.” Lance hadn’t minded the bruises at first. It was hard to complain about a few scrapes, a couple hurts, with legs wrapped around your waist and somebody moaning into the hand over their mouth. Now? _Now_ they hurt. “What – what if he’s not even _dead?_ What do you get?”

Something in Keith’s eyes changed in that. “If he’s not dead, then where is he? He should be home by now.”

“I – I don’t know. Maybe you’re right.” _If I go, at least I can keep an eye on him. Maybe I can stop it. Maybe I can fix it –_

“Give me your watch.”

Lance’s head snapped up. “What?”

“Come on, you’ve already blabbed to one person. I don’t need the entire Garrison on my tail even faster.”

                           It was a sign, really, of how much he’d taken things for granted that he’d already started unfastening his watch by the time Hunk’s words started echoing in his head.  _ “I’ll take the chance if it means you’re okay in the end.” _

His fingers shook. Then he put his watch back on, raised his head, and said, “No.”

“What?”

_Come on, Lance. You’re better than this. You can do this._ “I-I said no.”

“Two seconds ago you said you’d help me-“

“Alchemy is based on equivalent exchange, right?” Lance could feel his voice getting stronger, even as his legs trembled underneath him. “You’re planning to trade yourself for him. And I'm not - I'm not gonna let you."

Keith stared at Lance, eyes dark and empty. "Not me. The flower." His face twisted into a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "I don't need to remember him if he's  _ here. _ "

"Keith -"

"Would you  _ stop? _ You'll all be happier with the golden boy back anyway. What would it matter if I  _ was  _ trading myself?"

Lance tried not to listen to the anger, the spitting venom. He closed his eyes, took a breath -

when he opened them, Keith was trying to walk away. Lance's hand darted out, wrapping around Keith's wrist, trying to ignore the way the vines pulsed at his touch and the way Keith's blood dripped down his fingers. "I'm not letting you."

Keith tore Lance's hand away. "I'm dying anyway!" "And I've been trying to save your ass the whole time!" " _ I don't want your help! _ "

Lance wasn't afraid anymore. (-that was a lie; it still burned under his skin, flickering in and out of his ribcage like a scared animal-) Instead he was  _ angry. _

He grabbed Keith's shoulder; the fist that swung back at him was slow and groggy. He dodged it without too much trouble, but the knee to his thigh hit harder, making him stumble to the ground. He snatched at Keith's hair, dragging him down to the sand with him.

"Just  _ let go of me! _ "

"I'm not going to." Lance tried to keep his voice calm; his heart wouldn't stop beating. He was going to start crying again any moment.  _ Pidge. Pidge, come on my guy, I need you to pull through for my stupid ass here - _

"Just let me fucking  _ die,  _ god -"

Lance couldn't even be happy that Keith had finally admitted what he wanted. " _ No. _ "

"I thought I called the shots -"

Lance hit him. Not hard; but enough to shut him up. But Keith's eyes glared back at him over the red mark of broken blood vessels in his cheek, and then there were fingers around his throat -

Keith swung over top of him, the moonlight behind his head tracing his outlines in silver and leaving his face in shadow. "Why - won't - you - leave - me -  _ alone? _ "

Lance tried to answer, but Keith's fingers were tightening around his neck. "K-Keith-" "Even when you're not here I can't get you out of my  _ fucking head,  _ telling me to stop drinking or stop - just -" Keith's fingers disappeared, and when the black spots disappeared from Lance's eyes, he could see that Keith was clutching his head, eyes squeezed shut. "I just want you to  _ go away  _ and let me breathe, let me do this, because Shiro  _ needs me- _ "

"You need him," Lance choked out, his throat still hoarse. "A lot more than he ever needed you."

"You're full of shit. I don't need to listen to you."

"Yeah?" Lance coughed. "How's not listening to me been working out so far?"

" _ Fuck off. _ " Keith swung his fist at him again; this time Lance caught it, pushing it into the sand. There were streaks of blood all the way down Keith's arm now, and Lance tried to ignore them, swinging his feet into Keith's legs to knock him down into the sand and pressing a knee to his chest. Keith shoved at his knee; Lance grabbed his wrists again.

"You're hurting me," Keith said weakly.

"You didn't care about hurting me yesterday."

"You started it."

Lance supposed that much was true. There was a tiny thread of blood leaking from the corner of Keith's nose, and he let go of his wrist long enough to lean down and wipe it away with the pad of his thumb. Keith was still staring at him with a nonplussed expression - then the free hand took hold of Lance's hair, and Keith was kissing him again, desperately, passionately -

Lance pushed him back down on the sand. "I'm not doing this again," he said, voice grating, so close to tears he could taste them in the back of his throat.

"I love you."

_ And are you just saying that to make me do what you want?  _ Lance sealed his lips shut, hid the unspoken  _ I love you too  _ behind his gritted teeth. Then he lowered his head until he was pressing his forehead to Keith's shoulder. With his face hidden, Keith couldn’t see the way he was shaking.

And then Keith was shaking too. He was coughing again. Lance waited it out.

The coughing didn’t stop.

Lance raised his head, then moved his knee off of Keith’s chest with a twinge of horror weaving through the numbing sadness. Keith rolled onto his hands and knees, covering his mouth with his arm as the coughs racked his body, getting more and more violent.

“Keith. Keith, what – this better not be –“ Lance couldn’t finish his sentence, paralyzed with a sudden horrific fear.

He’d put his knee on Keith’s chest.

His chest.

“K- _ Keith? _ ”

Keith was still struggling for breath. Lance put a hand on his back to steady him; he could hear something in the distance, maybe a motor? More than one motor – The Garrison. They were finally coming. They gave a shit about Keith after all.

Keith wasn’t coughing any more so much as desperately gasping for breath. His breath sounded  _ wrong.  _ His fingers scratched at Lance’s back, and Lance wiped his fingers over Keith’s bottom lip, trying to pull away the strings of blood and saliva. “Keith, please –“

He tried to pull Keith to his feet, but it was like trying to move dead weight – no, he didn’t  _ like  _ that word, he didn’t like the word de- he wasn’t going to think it, once the Garrison got here Keith would be fine –

One of his hands was against the side of Keith’s neck. And Keith’s heartbeat was fluttering, getting fainter and fainter as the veins in his neck started to expand and his skin began to turn blue.

“Oh god – Keith, I don’t know what to  _ do! _ ” He knew the Heimlich maneuver, but that wasn’t going to get rooted flowers out of Keith’s chest – hitting him on the back wasn’t going to help –

He turned Keith’s face towards him, still half-holding him off the sand. “Come on, look at me, we can do this. You just gotta  _ breathe,  _ okay?”

And Keith’s eyes, bloodshot and tinged with red and purple both inside and out, wandered up to Lance’s in a dizzy circle. “Sh…” He licked some of the blood off of his lips, but it was still dripping down his chin and onto the ground below in heavy droplets. “Shiro?”

The Garrison was close. Lance could hear their wheels on the sand. But by the time the headlights caught his silhouette, Keith had stopped breathing.


	5. Chapter 5

Funerals sucked.  
  
Funerals sucked, and Lance couldn’t really articulate anything in his head beyond that, and how much, how much he did not want to be here. Because funerals were meant to be celebrations. Funerals were meant to be some sort of closure.  
  
But looking around, Lance didn’t see any closure. He saw four people at a funeral for a eighteen-year-old kid. No family. No real friends. Pidge and Hunk were here for him, not for Keith. And Iverson. Iverson was standing there, listening to the sermon with a quiet countenance and a stony face that Lance couldn’t have interpreted even if his head hadn’t been filled with a long low static.  
  
It wasn’t even certain if Lance even counted as being there. He wasn’t really part of the ceremony. He was sitting back under the shade of the trees, back against the whorled wood of the willow and slowly digging his fingers into his arm. The bruises on his arms and face he couldn’t hide anyway, but if he moved his back like this he could feel the injuries on his back sting. They weren’t supposed to sting this badly. They were just bruises.  
  
Nothing felt real except the sting on his back. It was like a computer simulation. He kept checking for dead pixels in the sky.  
  
Looking at Hunk and Pidge didn’t help. Hunk was crying. Crying. Like he hadn’t called up Keith and yelled at him –   
  
Not his fault.  
  
But not his fault turned into not my fault either and Lance knew better than that. Had there been a sound he’d missed when he’d shoved his knee into Keith’s chest? When he’d collapsed his lung?   
  
There hadn’t, he wanted to claim. But he couldn’t convince himself of that either.  
  
After all.  
  
He’d been angry.  
  
He had to stop thinking. So he got up, ready to leave –  
  
Footsteps came up behind him, and he stopped even before the arm grabbed his shoulder. “Where are you going, cadet?”  
  
“Home. I don’t know.”  
  
“Pay your respects.”  
  
Lance hadn’t been mad before. He hadn’t been trying to find anybody to blame but himself. He hadn’t been mad. He’d just been empty.  
  
But now he could feel that hollow filling up with pure, boiling rage. Iverson was touching him. Iverson was touching him, and getting in his face, like he hadn’t been calling Keith a dropout and Lance second-best in the same breath every day, like he had any right – any right –  
  
“Respects?” The word fell from his mouth with a disbelief too deep to feel. “Respects? You want me to pay my respects?”  
  
“I know he hurt you, boy-“  
  
Lance yanked his hand away. Of course. Of course Iverson didn’t think this was about him. “You’re sitting here, running your mouth at me about respect? Did you bother checking on him? Did you bother seeing if he was okay?”  
  
Iverson stood up, backbone stiff and his mouth freezing into a tight, unimpressed line. “He was no longer under my –“  
  
“Because you kicked him out!” Lance could hear his voice rising like a flood; he was no more able to stop it than if it had been one. “You kicked him out and he didn’t have any family, he didn’t have anybody except the person you sent out into space to die! You left him on his own! On his own in a desert!”  
  
“He didn’t have to-“  
  
“Stay? You wouldn’t even declare Shiro legally dead!”   
  
People were starting to stare. Lance could feel Hunk’s eyes on him, full of sympathy he didn’t want. Pidge’s eyes, curious and horrified all at once. The preacher. And other eyes, eyes from the Garrison field that were catching wind of the argument and coming closer –  
  
_Let them come. Let them watch me embarrass his stupid, fat, long-winded ass_.   
  
Iverson reached out for Lance’s shoulder again. “I understand you’re upset, Cadet –“  
  
“No. No, you don’t! I was there. I was there! I watched him get sicker and sicker and I was – I was there! You knew they were in love, didn’t you? Everybody knew! Everybody knew but nobody took two seconds to see if he was okay – except me!” Lance couldn’t help but laugh, even as his vision blurred. “I hated the guy! I hated him! I hated him and I still took the time to go see if he was fine and now look, I’m here crying over somebody I hate! I’m glad he’s dead because now he’s not suffering anymore but this never should have happened!”  
  
“Lance-“ Pidge was cutting in, but he didn’t want to hear it.  
  
“Want me to pay my respects?” he snarled at Iverson with a grin. He bowed, deep and low, until his head almost brushed the grass. “Congratulations. Congratulations on killing a kid who didn’t need to die.”   
  
“Lance, Iverson didn’t kill him!”   
  
“Pidge, if I wanted your damn opinion, I’d ask for it.” Then Lance shrugged, throwing his arms into the air and trying to ignore the way the tears were running down his face. “But what do I know, right? I’m just Iverson’s pet flunky. Maybe if I’d been a cargo pilot Keith would have killed himself in a nice, neat manageable way. And nobody would have to care.”  
  
He paused for breath. There was no sound left in the air except Lance’s harried breathing. Pidge was staring up at him, brown eyes shaking behind coke-bottle glasses. Hunk was keeping his distance. And the guilt hung in the air thick as fog, guilt that nobody could do anything about, guilt that was worth less than pennies now.  
  
Lance hated them. All of them. He hadn’t thought he was capable of it. But the empty stares – God.  
  
He turned and walked away, the bruises on his back stinging until he thought he might snap in two. He walked away from the Garrison, away from all of them until he found himself on the crest of a sandy hill, one sad tree struggling and failing to give shade.   
  
He turned to look behind him. Hunk and Pidge were both standing there, quietly following him. Pidge spoke up first.  
  
“We didn’t know.”  
  
Lance snorted. “It’s not like I didn’t try to tell you.”  
  
“I – I know.” Pidge’s voice was so small.   
  
He turned away and sat down under the faintly-waving tree branches, hearing the dry branches whisper above his head. Then he looked behind him again. “Why are you still here?”  
  
Hunk took a deep breath. He was dry-eyed – which was a marvel in and of itself, since Hunk could cry at the drop of a hat – even though Lance could see the pain in his face, in the way he chewed his lip. “…Well, it’s like you said. Keith was all alone.”  
  
“Yeah? What’s your point?”  
  
“So,” Hunk said with a quiet shake to his voice. “So, we’re not going to screw up again. We’re not walking away from you. Either of us,” he said with a quick glare at Pidge, who refused to meet his eyes. “We’re not leaving you alone.”  
  
“What if I want to be alone?”  
  
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”  
  
“I don’t need your protection, Hunk.”  
  
“Too bad,” he shot back.  
  
Lance swallowed down his response, then scoffed, returning his gaze to the sky. There was another shuffle behind him, then Pidge sat down next to him, his own eyes travelling to the horizon. He considered telling him to leave – then decided to leave it alone.   
  
“If you hated him so much, why are you so sad?” Pidge asked finally.  
  
Lance chewed on the inside of his cheek. He wasn’t sure he had the energy to respond. So he just shrugged.  
  
“Your, uh – your girlfriend?”  
  
He flinched. Not a lot – but enough.  
  
Pidge didn’t say anything. He just kept watching the sky, and with a shiver of recognition, Lance saw in his face the same thing he saw in his own; a waiting, resting hope. Maybe today.  
  
Hunk sat down on Lance’s other side, tucking himself between Lance and the tree. “Uh, you guys just admiring the sunset or-“  
  
Lance shook his head. “Just… waiting. For nothing in particular.” He glanced over at Hunk, and managed a smile. He knew it looked wrong. It felt wrong on his face. But it was something. “…Thanks,” he murmured.  
  
Hunk didn’t ask for what. He didn’t make Lance say anything more. He just wrapped an arm around his shoulders, and held him close.  
  
  


**END PART ONE**


End file.
